


puppy love sangi

by bigyikesenergy (whiskybusiness)



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Innocence, Innocent Mingi, Internal Conflict, Licking, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Puppy Love, Roughhousing, Scent Kink, Shame, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24351400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskybusiness/pseuds/bigyikesenergy
Summary: He's got San's wrists pinned to the bed, sitting on his stomach, San's legs kicking uselessly under him. Mingi leans down and cracks his jaw open to bite at San's hair, laughing as San moans and whines under him."He's biting me," San moans to the empty room, breathless. "Help — ah!"
Relationships: Choi San/Song Mingi
Comments: 43
Kudos: 300





	puppy love sangi

Mingi can't wait any longer. 

He knocks once on San's door, fidgeting impatiently. He knows he should wait, he _knows_ , but it’s their first day off in forever. Probably their only day off for a while, with the comeback starting in just a month. 

And San is _still_ sleeping. It’s not acceptable at all.

He knocks again — no answer. _Lazy baby_ , Mingi thinks. He pushes the door open and marches into the room, jumping on the bed and bouncing.

San bounces along with him, smushed on his front and wrapped up like a burrito in the covers. "Ngh," he moans, pushing his face deeper into the pillow. 

Adorable. Always so _cute_ , his baby Sannie. 

Mingi curls himself around San's body, happily fitting his legs along San's legs, his arm hugging over San’s back. San smells like warm sleep, like Sannie, which is not a real scent but Mingi knows it by heart, _mine baby good_. He snuggles closer, smiling, and places a soft kiss onto San's neck from behind. It feels good, so he kisses him again, a wet smack of lips that makes a funny sound against San’s skin, like sucking on a lollipop. 

"Nnnn," San huffs and shifts under him. "Too hot, Mingi-yah, mmph." He wriggles out from Mingi's arms and lies on his back, looking up at Mingi with a cute little frown. His face is still loose and squishy with sleep. 

Mingi looks down at him fondly. "Good morning, Sannie," he says, smiling. 

"I was hoping it wasn't still morning." San looks over at the sun streaming through the windows and yawns. "Time is it?"

"Almost twelve. You’re sleeping too late."

San rolls his eyes. He's so adorable when he's all scrunched and blurry with sleep, barely awake. Mingi wants to cuddle with him again. He wants them pressed all up against each other so he can hold San tight, keeping him warmer than the blankets would, nudging his nose into the warm skin of San’s neck. 

"— one to talk," San says, and Mingi refocuses out of his thoughts of spooning. "You're always sleeping. Except when you're bothering me or Yunho." 

"’M never bothering you," Mingi complains, fake-frowning. He can only keep it up for a second before he cracks into a big grin, reaching down to ruffle San’s hair. "You love morning cuddles.”

"Ugh, stop.” San bats his hand away and then, lightning quick, grabs the scrunchie that’s holding Mingi's hair into a little fountain on his head, and pulls it off. 

"Hey, give that back,” Mingi says, trying to sound threatening.

Grinning, San holds it out of his reach. "Nuh-uh. That's what you get for waking me up, Mingi-yah." 

Silence. Mingi narrows his eyes. 

"Oh, it's on," he says finally, and then he tickles San under his armpits and San starts to writhe, choking on laughter as he struggles to keep the hair-tie out of Mingi’s reach. 

Mingi loves playing with San. He loves it almost as much as cuddling, as having San tucked away in his arms as they watch movies in bed. Cocooned together, their breaths and bodies intertangling so much that Mingi feels like they’re one single, soft-breathing, warm being.

Playtime and cuddling can only happen in San and Mingi's room. Those are the rules. San explained them to him, once, after Mingi had picked San up and pulled him onto his lap during one of Hongjoong's meetings, and everyone had looked at them strangely.

He doesn't really understand, because San and Wooyoung are always playing and touching, and the others too — laying their heads down on someone's shoulder, or in someone’s lap, or hugging them from behind. 

_That's different from what we do, Mingi-yah_ , San had told him, confusing Mingi with his blush and awkward hands. _But it’s not bad_ , Mingi had whined, feeling the echo of San’s discomfort. San had just sighed. _They just wouldn't get it, so let's keep it our secret, okay?_

And that was that. 

Now Mingi knows exactly what is okay and what isn't. For example, they’re allowed to play hand games while waiting to go on stage at Music Bank. They’re allowed to hug during vlives. They’re allowed to slip their arms around the other’s neck when they’re standing behind each other in interviews and photos. 

Mingi is _not_ allowed to kiss San's cheek or neck, except when they're on Running Man or taping a challenge show, and even then he can't linger as much as he wants to. He’s not allowed to stroke San’s hair too long, either, or smell his neck and collarbone in public. 

He can do more when they're in the dorms, just the eight of them, but even then he can't pull San onto his lap during breakfast or hold him against his chest while they're having group movie night. Can’t tackle San onto the floor or couch and tickle him senseless, keeping him down with his weight as San giggles under him. 

Mingi knows the rules and he follows them. Even though sometimes it's hard, because he loves cuddling, and he really loves playtime. He loves the way San tries his hardest to wriggle out from under him, laughing helplessly because Mingi is too big for him to gain even an inch. 

And because Mingi is nice, he sometimes lets San win. He loosens his hold just enough so that San can roll out from under him and sit on his stomach, his weight warm and solid on Mingi’s middle, like a napping cat. 

He does it just to see how widely San smiles when he wins, breath heaving as he holds Mingi’s hands against his stomach. 

It’s the most precious thing Mingi’s ever seen. 

This time, though, Mingi doesn't feel like letting him win. He's got San's wrists pinned to the bed, sitting on his stomach, San's legs kicking uselessly under him. Mingi leans down and cracks his jaw open to bite at San's hair, laughing as San moans and whines under him. 

He’s having so much fun that he forgets completely about the hair-tie, enchanted by how San struggles to break Mingi's tight grip on his wrists. 

"He's biting me," San moans to the empty room, breathless. "Help — ah!"

He makes a hitched noise when Mingi licks over his ear, sucking his earlobe into his mouth. Somehow, Mingi has never tasted San's ears. Mm. He decides he likes it, likes running his tongue all around the inside and the shell, getting it wet all over. He likes how San is writhing even harder against him, moaning sharper.

"Nn — Mingi, s-stop, I — stop!"

And then Mingi finds himself shoved back on the bed, landing with his arms thrown behind him so he doesn't fall. He blinks in shock at San, who's breathing heavily in front of him, looking winded. 

Mingi’s first thought is, _Huh?_

Then he feels panic. Maybe he’s hurt San — but he's always so careful with his weight and his teeth, since San is so small and delicate. And even if San has started getting more muscular in the last year, he’s still nearly defenseless, like a baby bunny in comparison to Mingi’s thick thighs and heavier mass. 

If he's hurt San, Mingi thinks, heart thumping — 

And then he sees the tent in San's loose pajama bottoms, a thick line pushing the fabric up as San lies there, breathing hard as he stares at Mingi.

 _Oh._

Mingi's head feels like cotton candy. His heartbeat slows to a deep, throbbing pulse, like how he feels when he's nervous about something. After a second, he snaps his gaze up to San's face and sees that San is flushing pink. 

_Huh._ Mingi’s thoughts are all messed up, running into each other, like his brain is loose scrambled eggs. 

Ducking his head, San grabs a pillow and shoves it over his lower body. "I haven't jerked off in a few days," he tells Mingi, picking at a loose thread in the pillow. 

He looks miserable, and Mingi hates it, even through the mess in his brain. He hates it. Hates when San gets sad, when he gets moody like he does every little while, whenever they've been working too hard without sleep or Wooyoung makes a thoughtless comment. 

"Hey, it's okay — don't be sad, Sannie, please don't be sad," Mingi begs, and he starts to crawl forward so they can cuddle. 

San flinches when he gets close, cringing away. 

Oh. Mingi feels like he's been punched in the stomach. San doesn't want to be near him, he thinks, lip wobbling. He doesn't want Mingi to touch him.

"No, Mingi-yah…” San looks stricken as he takes in Mingi’s face. 

"Y-you don't wanna cuddle?" 

He waits as San looks at him, waits until San sighs and pats the bed next to him. ""Kay fine, but no spooning, just holding hands, alright?"

Mingi scoots up eagerly and lies across from him, their bodies curling into each other like parentheses. He tangles his feet against San's legs and interlocks their left hands. Good. Touching San, is good. Mingi starts to feel normal again, relaxing happily as he squeezes San's fingers.

"'M sorry," San whispers, the words floating soft and sad between them. He huffs a little laugh, squirming. "Just, you're big, y'know. And — anyway. I'm sorry. I know you were just playing around, Mingi-yah."

 _I’m always playing,_ Mingi thinks, confused. And he’s always been big. _What does that mean?_

He doesn’t understand, but all he wants to do is wipe that upset look off of San’s face. 

"'Sokay, Sannie, really." Mingi strokes his thumb over the back of San's hand, feeling over the soft skin. "I don't mind, please don't be sad."

San looks at him in disbelief. "You don't mind that my cock was hard when you were on top of me?" 

Ah, oh. Nn. Mingi's leg jerks where it's pushed between San's feet and he makes a shocked sound, cheeks burning. "That's not — you're not supposed to say that word," he manages, squeezing his eyes shut. 

It makes him feel — it's not right. They're not supposed to say that. It doesn't sound right, coming from San. It makes Mingi feel hot and anxious, and he bites his lip.

"Okay, sorry, yeah,” San says. His voice is hesitant. “Um — but you know what it means, right, Mingi-yah?" 

"I, um. I." Mingi focuses on the space over San's shoulder. He's not supposed to talk about this, none of them are — it's bad and wrong. It's dirty. He clears his throat, flushing deeper. "It means you need, um, private time."

"Yeah, private time. Do you ever — do you ever need private time, Mingi-yah?"

"Sometimes," Mingi forces out. 

He tries to ignore it whenever it happens — when he wakes up aching down there, weird dreams he can barely remember, or sees someone on TV wearing tight clothes. Sometimes it happens when he's at practice, breathless and excited from the pace of the dancing. 

He always ignores it for as long as he can. But he can’t leave it too long, because then he starts having the problem when he's pressed close and snuggling with San, or playing wrestling with him. And that's much worse, much more bad and wrong than having private time, so he takes care of it when he has to, even if he feels gross when he does. 

“Sometimes,” San repeats, watching him so closely that Mingi wants to whine, feeling hot and uncomfortable and confused. “When do you — when does it happen, usually?”

“When I wake up, sometimes,” Mingi says desperately, trembling. “Sannie, shouldn’t — don’t wanna talk about it, please, I —”

“Shh, ‘sokay, ‘sokay.” Looking guilty, San tugs his hand out from Mingi’s and starts to move away. “You’re right, sorry, I’ll just go — ”

 _No._ Mingi tugs him back with a low growl. He hums in approval when San settles back where he’d been, blinking in surprise. 

When they’ve tangled back together like before, Mingi looks down at San’s lower half warily. “Is it gone?” 

“Almost,” San says. He reaches down to adjust the pillow. “It’ll go away. In a bit.”

Mingi knows that from experience. His own always takes a while to go away. Sometimes it never does, and he has to take a cold shower so he isn’t walking weird for the next couple of hours. Sometimes it pops back up even after the shower, and he has to shut himself away in the bathroom, shower running to cover any sounds, closing his eyes tightly for the two minutes he needs to make it go away. 

He shifts on the bed. “So, you still wanna play?” he asks hopefully.

“Do you?” 

Mingi nods eagerly. He’ll never say no to playtime. 

“Okay,” San says, lips curving up. “Bet I’ll win this time.”

Smiling, Mingi unlocks their hands and starts tickling him on the stomach. He rolls them over on the bed and they wrestle with their arms clutching at each other, giggling. 

San is being careful and so is Mingi, wary of San’s problem. 

After a few minutes, Mingi is panting with laughter as San bats at his arms, trying to get Mingi pinned under him as he hooks a leg around Mingi’s waist. 

“So strong, Sannie,” Mingi teases, resisting easily.

“Shut up.” San grabs his hands and manages to wrap both legs around Mingi’s middle, hanging on like a jellyfish as he tries to wriggle on top of Mingi’s back. “Gonna — ngh!”

Mingi flips them over easily and presses San facedown into the mattress, exhaling in satisfaction as he sits astride San’s back. He leans down and scents San’s neck from behind, nosing over the knobs of spine revealed by San’s loose sleep shirt. 

He breathes in San’s smell slowly, bone-deep pleasure spreading through him. His heart is still pounding from the adrenaline of the play-fighting.

“Oh, Mingi-yah...” San sounds hurt, twitching under him. 

Confused, Mingi loosens his grip on San’s hands where he’s pinned them against the bed.

Then he realizes with absolute horror that he’s — he’s hard and he’s pushing himself against San’s bottom, rubbing against the curves of softness there. 

“N-nuh,” Mingi whimpers, shivering. 

He knows he should roll off, knows he needs to move away _right now_ — but he can’t. It’s so dirty and not right and it should feel bad but it doesn’t. It feels amazing, and he wants to —

“God, you feel huge,” San moans under him, wriggling a little. Nothing like when they’re playing — like he’s inviting Mingi’s pressure, trying to feel out what’s pressed against him. “You feel massive, Mingi-yah. How did I not know you were this big? God, how _big_ are you?”

San pushes back against him and Mingi makes a low, wounded sound. His hips jolt forward and he rubs against San once, twice, three times, pleasure spiking hot and sharp through his lower body, before he regains control and sits back, panting. 

“C-can’t,” Mingi whines, trembling with the effort of keeping still. “D-don’t know if I’m — b-big, I don’t know, Sannie.”

 _Help me,_ he thinks desperately, not sure if he’s talking to San or himself or someone else entirely, the nameless and faceless people he always thinks of when he’s bent over the toilet, miserable, wrapping his hand around himself fearfully. _Help me, I can’t —_

“Let me turn over,” San says, and Mingi obeys tearily, raising his body so that San can roll over and lie on his back under Mingi. 

It’s bad, but Mingi still can’t stop touching him, can’t bring himself to let San out from under him. 

He could if San asked — of course he could, Mingi thinks — but San isn’t asking. Instead San looks at him where he’s seated on San’s hips, and reaches out for his hands, tangling their fingers together. 

Mingi hurts down there. He aches and throbs, and he can tell without looking that his sweatpants are pushed up by how much he’s swelling under them, just like San’s had been before. 

“Oh, Mingi, baby,” San breathes, his gaze trailing down from Mingi’s face to his lower half. 

Mingi squirms on top of him, his skin heating. “Hurts, Sannie.”

“Do you want me to leave, Mingi-yah?” San soothes him with soft strokes over his hands. “I can leave, if you want me to.”

“N-no, please don't,” Mingi begs. His mind is churning, upside-down inside. He itches, he burns to rub against something — against San’s belly, the soft curve of his back, gripping his tiny hips and holding him still — “Nn, please, Sannie, help me —”

“Do you wanna touch me, baby?” San asks, gentle even as his voice cracks. “We can, if you want. It’ll feel good. It’ll be like using your hand, but better, huh?”

“Don’t know…” 

It’s wrong. It’s bad. It shouldn’t happen — they shouldn’t even be talking about it. It’s supposed to be secret. It’s so dirty, it’s nasty, and it’s not right. 

Especially with San — Mingi’s not supposed to with San, not at all. He shouldn’t. 

Mingi wants it so bad he feels wild. Unhinged. 

He doesn’t even know what he wants, but something is coursing through him, a hot, heady, dark kind of energy, making him feel out of control, twitching and shuddering as he sits on top of San. 

San. His sweet, soft little baby.

“Wanna touch you,” he breathes, teeth clenching together guiltily. “W-wanna — but, don’t. Don’t wanna take off any clothes,” he adds, flushing deep red as he rocks back and forth, trying to get rid of the strange adrenaline sweeping through him.

“That’s okay,” San assures him. “We can do it right like this, hm? Just like — this,” he pushes his hips up so he slides against Mingi’s lower body, the movement aligning them perfectly. 

“Oh, _hmngh,_ ” Mingi groans and drops down, repeating the same motion so that their hips rub against each other. His hardness and San’s, slipping against each other, the pressure firm and hot and wonderful, so much better than Mingi’s loose fingers stroking over himself. “Ohm— oh, Sannie, oh, f-feels —”

“Good, baby?” San sounds breathless. “God, you’re so fu — so big, so thick,” he moans as Mingi rubs harder against him, pressing his lower half into the mattress. ”Y-you can go faster, too, y’know. Feels good like that, too.”

 _Faster?_ wonders the part of Mingi’s brain that can still think. 

He tests it, rolling his hips in quick, powerful pushes that make San squirm under him, squeaking like a helpless kitten. He pins San’s wrists to either side of him on the bed and keeps them there, his body weight pressing San down, so small and warm underneath him.

Mingi rocks his hips, chasing the pure sharp pleasure that’s spreading through him.

“Yeah, just like that — mm, Mingi, baby, you’re so g-good, feel amazing…”

Oh. Mingi lights up with happiness, the feeling breaking through his mindless wall of pleasure. 

He’s making Sannie feel good. Making him moan like this, soft and high-pitched, almost like he’s in pain — but now Mingi knows that he’s just feeling the same throbbing heat that’s burning Mingi up inside. 

Mingi knows he’s making sounds, too — little growls and snarls, voice deeper than usual as he shoves his hips against San over and over. 

It doesn’t matter. He’s making Sannie feel good, and that’s almost enough for him to forget how wrong it all is. But if he’s making Sannie happy, then it can’t be as bad as he’d thought. Can’t be that bad or wrong to touch him like this, his stiffness down there so hard and perfect against Mingi’s own. 

Mingi leans down so that the space between them disappears. Oh, that’s even better — his chest is pressed nearly flat to San’s chest, warmth all along his front. Like this, his body fully covers San’s little frame like a large, long-limbed blanket. 

His mouth finds the juncture between San’s neck and shoulder and he inhales deeply, taking in San’s beautiful smell. _Sannie._ So perfect. So small — tiny, whimpering, twitching under him. 

Mingi is wet inside his sweatpants. He has been for a while, and he can feel it smearing against the fabric. Usually it would make him feel disgusting, dirty and soiled, but now he doesn’t care at all. 

Sannie says Mingi is making him feel good. Nothing else matters. 

He removes his nose from San’s collarbone and bites lightly at his jaw, wishing he could gather the courage to kiss San’s lips, to lick over his soft, enchanting little mouth. The thought makes him vibrate, a little crazy, and he licks a wet stripe up San’s cheek instead. 

San moans under him, turning his head as if to give Mingi better access. 

Mingi likes that. Good. He licks him again, tracing his jawline with his tongue, then noses down under and licks all around San’s neck. He comes back up to San’s ear, the one he’d gotten all wet before, and bites carefully around the shell, then sucks his earlobe back inside.

“O-oh God, Mingi — ah,” San pants, twisting. He’s still all stiff and hard down there, and he lifts his hips against Mingi as best he can with Mingi’s weight pressing him down. “Please, baby — Mingi-yah, suck on my n-neck, please — “

 _Suck?_ Like a lollipop, maybe. Mingi likes that idea very much. He nips at the skin of San’s neck, holding it gently in his teeth before he sucks it into his mouth. 

“Mmm,” he hums while he’s sucking, because it feels funny in his mouth and it makes San kick desperately under him, moaning louder than before. 

When he draws back he’s startled to see a purple-red mark where his mouth had just been. He stares, shock and horror freezing his hips where they’d been rubbing San into the bed. 

“Why’re you — why’re you stopping?” San lifts his head, seeking out Mingi’s eyes. “Wh-what’s wrong?”

“I hurt you,” Mingi says, heartbroken.

“What?” Chest heaving slightly, San tries to follow his gaze. Then, confusingly, he _laughs._ “Oh, sweetheart, no. Baby, look at me.” He tries to catch Mingi’s eyes. “Baby, Mingi-yah. That’s just a hickey. It means you made me feel good.”

“But it — it looks like a bruise.” Mingi leans down to inspect it. It does look like a bruise — like a wound, red and swollen. He can see teeth marks in it, and little burst blood vessels. “You wanted me to bruise you?”

“Kind of,” San tells him. He squirms, huffing a breath. “It’s like a love mark. So you can show how much you care about me.”

 _A mark?_ Mingi thinks it over, his heartbeat returning to normal as he considers that he hasn’t actually hurt San. 

He decides he likes it. Yes, he likes the idea of using his mouth to make San feel good. And if he’s being truthful, he really, really likes the idea of drawing marks on San to show how much he loves him. To show _mine_ , too. 

Mingi squeezes San’s wrists as he thinks about it, getting excited again.

“You good?” San asks, watching him. “‘Cause I was about to c — about to. You know. I was feeling really good, Mingi-yah.” He tries to lift his hips and fails to budge Mingi’s weight even a little. 

Adorable. Mingi rubs against him and hisses at the contact, remembering how good it feels to slide hot and hard against him like this. 

“Okay,” San gasps, “I guess that means you’re — ah!” He makes a sharp sound when Mingi leans down and sucks on his neck, right over the first bite mark. 

Mingi sucks at it determinedly. He wants to make it bigger, wants to spread it all over San’s neck, wants to make more marks, covering San’s throat with the shape of his teeth. 

He licks until he gets tired and then he lays his head onto San’s neck, panting harshly. 

He’s feeling — so so good, too much heat and pleasure building in his lower body, cresting through him like waves. He speeds his hips as they roll against San, pushing so forcefully that the bed begins to heave with him, springs squeaking. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t _care_. He chases the hot, wonderful tingles of pleasure growing inside him, throbbing all over as he pushes San into the mattress.

San keens and squirms under him. Mingi can feel his legs scrabbling at the mattress, hips jerking, and he leans down and snarls against San’s tiny neck, so breakable, so small and soft. 

He fastens his teeth at the place where San’s shoulder meets his neck and bites the skin there, hard with muscle but soft, so soft and smooth. He holds it in his teeth, biting down lightly so San knows — so he feels Mingi holding him, having him. 

_Mine._

When he presses his teeth in harder, San makes a sharp, high-pitched sound and arches up into him. 

And then everything is suddenly white and noiseless and he’s growling around San’s skin in his mouth and rubbing against him roughly, _mine, mine, mine_ and then — _baby mine — Sannie_ — 

He spills wet all inside his sweatpants, groaning as he pushes himself against San one last time. 

A while later he comes to, panting and slumped onto San with his face nudged into his neck. 

“Hey.” San’s voice is gentle, one hand petting through his hair. “You okay, Mingi-yah?”

“Mmph,” Mingi replies, leaning into the hand. Sannie’s petting him, that’s so nice. Lovely. Mingi feels strung-out, like after a long dance practice. Tired all over. Mind moving slowly, a little blurry. 

Then he remembers everything. 

He pushes himself up with effort and takes a worried look at San, scanning him head to toe to check for any harm. “Sannie, are you okay?” 

San looks okay, Mingi thinks, relief sweeping through him. San looks — he looks happy, actually. Smiling up at Mingi with the same expression he wears after they’ve performed, or won an award. Exhausted, but proud. Satisfied. Glowing. 

He’s beautiful, Mingi thinks, awed. 

“‘M fine,” San says, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his wrists around. “A little gross down under, but I’d say it was well worth it.”

He must be sore, Mingi realizes, taking in the red marks along his neck. 

Mingi picks himself up and moves off San carefully, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him. 

“I can massage you,” he offers. He still feels a bit panicked, even having checked San over for injuries. He’d had San pinned for so long — thirty minutes? An hour? Mingi has no idea how much time has passed. He nods quickly, as if to convince San that it’s a good idea. “Sannie, you must hurt so bad, let me massage you, please —”

“Chill, Mingi-yah.” San rolls over onto his side, smiling wider. “‘M fine, I told you. I’ve taken worse at practice.” 

“Oh.” Mingi processes that. Then, “Do you want me to go?” he asks, feeling his lip tremble. 

They did so many things — they did things that Mingi is still not sure they’re supposed to do. Things that are supposed to be dirty, and wrong. Even if they felt — 

He shudders, shifting in his wet pants. _Amazing,_ his brain whispers, finishing the thought. _Perfect, wonderful_. 

“Why would I want you to go?” San looks at him, frowning. “Do you want me to go?” 

“No!” Mingi jolts forward, his whole body rejecting the idea.

“Okay,” San says firmly, like that’s decided. “Let’s cuddle. Wanna cuddle?”

“Yes,” Mingi sighs gratefully. He lies down like they’d been before, curled opposite each other. “Wanna — can I be small spoon?”

“‘Course you can, baby.” 

Mingi burns at the word, a hot spike of pleasure shooting through him, echoing what he’d felt before. When he’d — anyway. 

He settles himself with his back to San’s front, held against his chest as San’s arms sneak around his middle. San threads his legs into Mingi’s and they lie there, breathing in and out in the same rhythm. 

Mingi shifts, pressing himself back into San, who makes an approving noise into his hair. 

“I made you feel good, right?” he asks, wondering if San is going to fall asleep again. 

“You made me feel so good, baby,” San tells him. He already sounds sleepy, but one of his hands strokes over Mingi’s belly, soothing. “So good. Amazing.” Mingi hears him sigh, a contented sound. “What about you, mm?”

“So good,” Mingi confirms, blushing. He feels so warm all over. He made San feel amazing. “Sannie,” he says, and he doesn’t know what he wants to say next, so he stops speaking.

Doesn’t end up mattering. Mingi hears the sound of snuffles behind him, and he grins secretly. San’s asleep. 

He pretends to sleep until he finally drops off, warm all across his back, held tight.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
